


forty days before

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: The Truth AU. Scully visits Mulder after his sentencing.





	

She doesn’t know if they’re watching. They probably are. There’s probably a camera hidden somewhere behind all the cinder-block, a morbid Peeping Tom who’s going to get exactly what he’s wishing for. She hopes there is a camera, needs this moment to be a proven thing. Hard evidence. I loved Fox Mulder. I love Fox Mulder. 

The guards were laughing when they shoved her in his cell. They prodded her tender postpartum back with their unwieldy batons. One of them told her, Jesus asked his men to stay up and pray. The night before it happened. They slept, though. Are you gonna pray? And she spat at him. You don’t know shit about what Jesus did. The guard smacked her in the mouth and slammed the door tight behind her like he thought it was a punishment. She felt the urge to pray.

He doesn’t make any jokes. Not this time. So many times she’s looked into his beautiful face and beheld a hardened, wild man or a scared little boy. Always either or. But tonight they meet. And they both pull her closer.

What is there to say? Not a thing. Not a single thing. She feels so angry when he first kisses her, gentle and slow. What is this, Mulder? Don’t do this to me. But he pulls away when she tries to force him to treat her roughly, make it real.   


He holds her spitting gaze as he slips off her heeled boots, her socks. He used to do this when he wanted something from her she didn’t want to give. Like responsibility for that week’s paperwork. His thumbs dig in to the arch of her left foot and she knows she’ll give it to him. Give whatever to him.   
  
He grasps her by the toes and paints dismal little patterns over her flexing instep and ankle with purposeful fingers. A tension floods her, asexual and mortifying, but he pushes through and lifts her leg to press a solitary kiss to the heel of her outstretched foot. He doesn’t fight her when she wrenches it away.   


She wants to offer herself to him. Let him pick and choose what he wants and let him walk away from all the rest. Her trembling fingers tug at the buttons of her blouse and she knows without a doubt, watching him watching her, after he’s consumed his fill there will be nothing left. 

Down her shoulders drops the blouse, and her bra follows. The corporeal substance of her and everything less tangible lies supine in the only light of the room. The moonlight makes her look embalmed, a dead thing prepared to make the living more comfortable looking at her. With no place to rest her head, it taps gently against the concrete.

He inches to her like she’ll scurry away with any sudden movements. Closer, a little closer. Stop. Closer. Closer. The fabric of his jumpsuit scratches on the floor and the rustling sound of it will play on and on in her head until it’s resting in its coffin. 

He touches her with his mouth before he touches her with anything else, sitting at a distance that makes her want to weep. His tongue on her nipple is stiff, prodding, and she reaches up to cradle his head to her, closing her eyes as the spongy, searing flesh of his mouth envelops the entire tip of her breast.

Her thighs are slick under her clothes and that Catholic guilt she shirked all those years ago hits her with full force. God, how could she be… but he’s pushing her breasts together and lapping at them greedily, finally allowing the less and more useful parts of his body lean against her. His cock, full with blood and life and want, nudges at her hip, but she suspects he doesn’t even notice. 

Time loses its bearings. It grips at the walls like a scared child in the dark, watching his tongue dip into her belly button, his fingers working at the zipper of her slacks, and if it wants to say a word it doesn’t, showing respect to this pair for the first time since making their acquaintance. 

When he pushes his face to her body, it’s mostly just to rest there, not take any real action. For a while there’s only the occasional nuzzle of his sand-papery jaw against her inner thighs, or the maddening brush of the hardest part of his cheekbones. His cheeks are shining with her fluid when he looks up at her, but Scully really doesn’t have it in her to be embarrassed. He takes her clitoris into his mouth and keeps it there, staring unblinkingly into her eyes. 

It’s an odd sensation. She can’t tell if he’s trying to memorize the feel of it against his tongue or convince her to let him keep it. 

Tell me the Truth, she begs him. His eyes slide shut and he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He tries to distract her with a hardy flick of his tongue, with a clever grinding of his jaw. Don’t do this. Oh, Mulder. Yes. 

He’s holding her down by clapsing his hands over her tummy. You bastard. Tell me. He’s drinking her like water, than lapping at her like drops down a wine glass. Damn it, Mulder, you feel so good, tell me. You need to tell me, oh please, I’m coming imcoming please tell me tell me tell me the TRUTH you fucking bastard. 

It’s a sacred journey he travels from her stomach to her mouth. A long one. She tastes the salt of her on his tongue and licks it away until she tastes him, only him.

And then she bathes him. With her mouth, first, and then her tears. She tries to tell herself she isn’t preparing him for anything else but what they’re doing right now. It’s a crapshoot, but with his divine cock, fine and long and hard as deadwood pressed to the fat part of her mouth, she asks him again. Tell me. His fists clench at his sides and she watches the tear tracks in the dirt on his face distort and refill. You’re so beautiful. I love doing this to you. Tell me, Mulder. But he jerks out of her grasp before she she can take him into her throat, and he pushes her onto her back.

She won’t sully this with her questions. She won’t do that to them. Inside of her he is huge and jagged and pulsing with blood, and he pierces her to the very quick. An agonized scream rips from his throat and into her hair and Scully feels it in every inch of her body, feels it even still as he moves in painful tic-toc movements in and out of her. She’ll feel it more when she leaves here. 

Together they poke at all the raw spots inside of them, forcing each other to feel the depths of their own hurt in blinding force until they’re near catatonic. Scully’s content to lie there and let it wash over her, but he is sobbing hard and scrambling to pull out of her.  
  
“I can’t –” he whimpers miserably, shielding his penis from her like it’s a boo-boo he’s terrified to let her see it. His eyes are glassy, savage. The muscles in his chest and arms jump and scream under her calming touch.  


“You can,” she says firmly. He gasps as she tugs his hands away and strokes him forcefully from root to tip. He’s weeping into her hand, twitching toward her like a weakened compass needle.   


She shushes him through his tears, kissing them all away from his face and licking at the ones that slip down his chest. Some of them are probably her own.  
  
It’s heartbreaking when he comes, climaxes, culminates, ends, in her fist and over her heaving breasts. Neither of them say a word or make a sound, staring rapturously at his semen quickly cooling on her skin. He ends up licking it off of her before she leaves, furiously adamant that she be clean. 

Then they have the whole night. After a period of wallowing in that blessed nothingness that comes to you only after orgasm, she pulls him to her so that he is curled in her lap, his distinct nose tucked behind her ear. They gently rock together and neither dare to fall asleep. She refuses to admit this will be the last time she’ll ever see him.  
  
***

It isn’t. 

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoo for intentional vagueness!


End file.
